


the eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty

by acheronianbusker



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Autistic Ferdie, Autistic Ferdinand von Aegir, Crimson Flower, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Transfeminine Ferdie, Transfeminine Ferdinand von Aegir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24924547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheronianbusker/pseuds/acheronianbusker
Summary: ferdie and dorothea reunite after a stressful two weeks apart
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Dorothea Arnault
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	the eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty

**Author's Note:**

> “You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, as empty.”
> 
> ― Ocean Vuong, On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous

A windy summer night brews across the horizon. The courier that comes a few hours ahead of Ferdie from Enbarr tell Dorothea not to worry, of course, but the anxiety is still there. 

"Hello," she murmurs, peeling off Ferdie's long, stiff jacket. She can tell by the hunch of their shoulders and the stress in their jaw that the meeting in the capitol didn't go well. 

They seem a bit overstimulated and their hands tighten into fists, teeth gnashing and ears curling back. She guides them gently into a shower, and waits a half hour for them to emerge, as she changes the sheets to their favorite set, unperfumed, and a rougher, less silky texture than the usual finery, a texture she knows they enjoy from the time at the monastery, and brings out their favorite quilted blanket. It's hot for the summer, but she knows they will appreciate it. She draws a little bit of ice magic into her fingertips and cools the room, pulling from mana she hasn't used since the end of the war. 

Ferdie exits the baths, somewhat dejected but much more unrestrained in their manner, and smelling fresh and clean. She knows she shouldn't worry. She finds it hard to fall asleep, though, staring at their shoulders rising and falling with their even breath. Their feet drag back and forth against the sheets, and they dig into it with their toes. 

Time passes, a half-hour, an hour, both of them alone in this big bed in the manor with their thoughts, and then Ferdie turns abruptly and burrows their face into Dorothea's stomach. She can feel the wet sniffles against the thin cloth robe, and she presses her lips together to keep from crying, as she drags her fingers against their scalp with one hand and rubs circles into their back with the other, until they grab it and count each knuckle, once, twice, thrice, eyes closed against the sensation, and they finally both fall into a disturbed sleep. 

* * *

Dorothea wakes up alone to a wail from her daughter and rushes out of the room intensely, gripped by the anxiety that something terrible may have happened. Hushed whispers greet her in the hallway, and she tiptoes to their daughter's room. 

"Do you need to use the toilet?" Her spouse does their part not to be too loud and their daughter makes a valiant effort at keeping quiet, rubbing her eyes and nodding her assent after pondering the question for a pregnant moment. 

Ferdie grabs their daughter by the hand and they waddle toward the washroom, and Dorothea watches Ferdie tend to their child silently, as though there is no reason to have nightmares. As though there is no reason to be afraid. She stands in the hallway, listening to the scuffling in the washroom, eventually returning to her own quarters to wait for Ferdie to return. The adrenaline spike hasn't worn off; perhaps it is a silly overreaction but five years of worrying every harsh noise is a death knell has had a significant effect on Dorothea's mental fortitude. 

She sees monsters in silhouettes, wearing the faces of past comrades and friends. Adrestian and Leicester assassins at each turn. Soldiers from Faerghus at the door. And now, this, the nobility in Enbarr threatening to unite against Edelgard and their stolen wealth being redistributed.

She takes a deep breath, in and out. In, and out.

Ferdie's own reaction seems to be along the same lines, and she's reminded of how desperately they used to cling at each other every moment they spent alone during the war.

She stands, abruptly, filled with a nervous energy that makes her want to pace around the mansion, but Ferdie is there in the doorway, staring at Dorothea with an intensity she hasn't seen in a long time and she suppresses a shiver. 

A long beat, and then they fall into each other, her hands settle in a vice-like grip along the collar of their shirt and they push a rough kiss into her mouth. She keens into it almost embarrassingly loudly and they kiss openly and hotly, slowly tapering off the kisses into something tender and deep. She slides a hand up across a lightly-stubbled cheek and scratches. Ferdie shudders violently and gazes at her with wet eyes, pushing their groin into her body. 

"Wait," they gasp. "Wait. I want-" Dorothea is as patient as can be, hand gripped tightly into their collar as they fumble for the words. Their eyes fall out of focus and then into focus again. "I want to be in charge. I want to decide." 

Dorothea nods her agreement. She wants to let go, she doesn't want to feel like the weight of the world is on her shoulders anymore. To remember the feeling of someone else's blood on her hands and the smell of rot on a battlefield and the thought that her children will have to face that same fate. 

She lets herself be led back onto the bed, her back pressed against her spouse's chest. They brush her hair to one side and sweep the tension out of her shoulders, pulling them back and pushing up against her shoulderblades. The robe comes down but not off, and it hangs from her forearms. 

They stop for a minute, taking a moment to rub circles against her shoulders and blow raspberries against her ear until she smiles, resting her head against their chest for a good moment, negative tension gone. They breathe in sync, letting out as much negative energy as possible, and trying to think of positive things. 

Then, they press two fingers into her neck and slowly and deliberately stroke up against the jugular. She stiffens again, filling with a good kind of tension this time. Hot breath presses against her neck and she leans back into the sensation. That nervous impatience is evident in the way Ferdie's fingers tremble against her skin, but they are resolute in their approach. They trace long fingers up and down her spine and follow the branches of her ribs gently with their thumbs, kissing in every odd direction. She reaches down to palm at their length and they freeze for a moment, eyes wild as though they are going to let go of their restraint. She impatiently palms at their abdomen, pushing them down, but they hold steady. 

"Wait," they rasp, eyes like fire. They twist and push her down onto the bed, settling between her legs, rubbing at her thighs in a soothing motion that serves only to cause a new wave of heat to bloom between them, but she does her best to stay still against the onslaught. 

They smooth her collarbones gently and their hands travel south, caressing every inch of her abdomen, leaving no mole or stretch mark untouched. They kiss stretches up and down her stomach, grazing sharp, perfectly manicured fingernails against the muscles of her stomach and palm at the pouch of her belly. She sees their gaze travel hungrily up and down her body. 

Their hands sweep over her legs deliberately, strong fingers gripping at the muscles tightly, and they move off the bed, and down, ignoring her protests. They sweep broad fingers over her pampered feet, knuckles grasping at each ankle as they swirl their thumb over each one and kiss it thoroughly, and lets their attention wander upward, slowly, as they graze against her inner calves, then her inner thighs. She squirms in their grip, but they don't let go, eyes fierce, and teeth sharp, as they nip at her inner thighs, lapping up the wetness that's dripped all the way down them. They suck in a harsh breath, and Dorothea grins. Ferdie loves her thick thighs, loves when she rides their face - maybe another time. Or maybe not, she thinks wryly as they capture her attention once again.

Dorothea realizes they know exactly what she's thinking about, even the specific instance, on their honeymoon after the war. Ferdie isn't teasing her to make her beg. She can tell they're as desperate as she is. But maybe if she can just...

All thoughts leave Dorothea's mind as she feels air blowing against her uncomfortably wet thighs. She groans, unable to help herself.

"It's ok," Ferdie says, kissing at her lower lips, "I made sure the children were asleep." She almost screams in frustration as they move their attention back to her inner thighs, sucking along the patterns of veins, tracing them with their lips. "You can be as loud as you want, darling." She bites back a pejorative. Using her own words of endearment against her...it's almost cruel. 

Ferdie wait until her eyes are closed and she's relaxed into the touch to surge and seal their mouth over her clit and the upper part of her labia, and she shouts, quickly muffling the noise against her hand, but not quick enough. She glares at Ferdie, who smiles so gently and un-smugly, she has no choice but to become even more frustrated because she can't be upset with them. 

Dorothea rocks against their mouth with a voracity that must have Ferdie taking pity on her because they slip a finger into her, then two, flicking and rubbing against all the right spots. She bucks up into their mouth and yells out a protracted note, then whines a staccato rhythm into her fingers as she desperately tries to keep quiet. 

They are exceedingly gentle, so much so that she stops straining against the pleasure and gives in, allowing wave after wave to pass over her. She comes on a high note, grasping for their hand, and they hold her through a good half of the pleasure, before releasing their hand to stroke at her belly, coaxing even more pleasure out of the dying embers of her calefaction.

* * *

She doesn't remember falling asleep, only waking less than a quarter-hour later, it must be, because Ferdie is still at least half stiff in their fuzzy pajamas and stroking at her hair. Their fingers stutter in her hair as they notice the change in her breathing, and she pulls their pants down desperately, giving them a moment to react. They are still for a moment, then then their legs lift off the bed to allow her to yank off the pants and smalls impatiently and take their cock into her hand. She forces herself to be slow, almost soothing, for as long as she can bear, and then leans down to kiss the head of their cock, pulling down to reveal the tip and stroking in a gradual motion. 

She hisses as she leans down to suck at their cock. Ferdie lets out a choked laugh and that tapers off into a hiss of its own. She's cognizant to not use too much pressure at first, giving them time to react. But in minutes, all thought of technique flies out the window. She savors the task in earnest, thoroughly enjoying watching them buck into her mouth, moaning lowly, hunched over. Their fingers turn to a fist in her hair, and she can feel the fight of their hips as they struggle not to jerk into her mouth. She takes them as far into her mouth as she can, and then wraps her fingers around the base again.

In a few minutes time, she has their larynx bobbing a discordant rhythm as their toes curl against the sheets again, and she is almost offended when they push her away. 

They pour a cup of water from the pitcher on the nightstand and she's surprised at her own thirst. She drinks two cups; they drink one. The chink of the silver cup against the nightstand has her almost sighing in anticipation.

They settle on top of her again, the head of their cock rubbing against her clit unrestrainedly as they both lose themselves in the feeling for several minutes. Ferdie strains against her, mumbling incoherently, and she leans into the sensation. 

"Please, Ferdie," she does actually bring herself to beg this time, and licks her chapped lips expectantly as they position their cock against her and bear down. 

Then, Dorothea loses all coherent thought. They rut against each other almost mindlessly. For several minutes, they press their foreheads together in silence, and Ferdie nestles into her arms like coming home. 

Dorothea grips at Ferdie, completely unwilling to let go of them. 

"When you were gone today," she begins hoarsely, then hears a moan so depraved even she's startled erupt from her lips as they work broad strokes around her clit, the way she likes it when they take their time. She tries again, groaning into their chest, stroking them by the spine. She kisses up a sweaty, broad shoulder. "When you were gone, I was so worried you wouldn't come back." 

She still can't look at them when she cries. "I hate it when you leave me here alone."

"Never again," they promise, kissing her squarely on the forehead and licking the salt from their lips, kissing the salt from the corners of her eyes. "Next time, we will all go together. Even if Enbarr is unsafe," Ferdie swears as Dorothea looks into their eyes, "even if it's unsafe, I would rather have you and the children with me than anywhere else. They can stay in the capitol with -" Ferdie gasps as Dorothea takes an entire nipple into her mouth and sucks, hard.

"Later, please darling," she strokes up their back as though to soothe and lessen the impact but they seem to take little offense, deciding their mind is better served in the present moment. 

Ferdie grunts, hips faltering, and then sucks a harsh breath into Dorothea's shoulder.

This time, Dorothea is resolute to hold out until Ferdie finishes, and they fight a silent war of wills; Dorothea is more stubborn than Ferdie could ever hope to be, and they lose a spectacular loss to the battle of wills, crying out incoherently and spending. Dorothea savors the rare occurrence, but only for a moment when Ferdie resumes drawing harsh motions directly across Dorothea's clit and she sees pure white as her eyes roll back and she comes. 

They lay in bed together for a minute, breathing in rhythm. Ferdie exhales a long, long breath in relief and Dorothea follows it with one of her own. Two weeks was far too long for them to be apart when it was no longer strictly necessary, they decide simultaneously, before they get up on wobbly legs to clean up the mess. 

Six years into having to clean any manner of gore and viscera off their clothing and three years into a child's potty accidents, they've learned to deal with being awake at all hours to launder clothes and change sheets without complaint, but it's somehow so much worse when it follows something pleasurable for a change. 

But when they're curled up in bed again, this time with Ferdie's second-favorite sheets, smelling of fresh starch and citrus, and with Ferdie's head on Dorothea's shoulder when they nod off this time, she's able to fall asleep.


End file.
